Do several passions invade the mind, Of which usurping rank, some have thought love Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests, But this doth from the cloud of error grow, The thing they here call Love, is blind desire, With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear, In a continual tempest. Now, true love That is an essence far more gentle, fine, It is a golden chain let down from heaven, That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines In equal knots: this bears no brands, nor darts, But in a calm, and god-like unity, Preserves community. O, who is he, that, in this peace, enjoys A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers, Richer than Time, and as time's virtue rare A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance: 8 And as time's virtue rare.] Truth, which is said proverbially to be the daughter of Time. WHAL. Would, at suggestion of a steep desire, Of all his happiness? But soft : I hear That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such thing, As this chaste love we sing. 9 Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those Who, being at sea, suppose, Because they move, the continent doth so. Though thy wild thoughts with sparrow's wings do flie, And yet (in this t'express our selves more clear) Such spirits as are only continent, Because lust's means are spent: Or those, who doubt the common mouth of fame, Is mere necessity. Nor mean we those, whom vows and conscience Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain, He that for love of goodness hateth ill, Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears; 9 Peace, luxury,] i. e. lust. It is simply the Fr. luxure, then in general use. On this trite word, Steevens (under the name of Collins) has poured out, for the benefit of the youthful readers of Shakspeare, pages of the grossest indecency. "verbis, nudum olido stans Fornice mancipium quibus abstinet !” A beauty of that clear and sparkling light, And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys; All taste of bitterness, and makes the air A body so harmoniously composed, All her best symmetry in that one feature! Who could be false to? chiefly, when he knows The wealthy treasure of her love on him; In the full flood of her admired perfection? Much more a noble, and right generous mind, That knows the weight of guilt;' he will refrain And to his sense object this sentence ever, "Man may securely sin, but safely never." 1 That knows the weight of guilt, &c.] This is from Seneca, the tragedian: Quid pœna presens consciæ mentis pavor, XII. EPISTLE TO ELIZABETH COUNTESS OF RUTLAND.2 MADAM, HILST that for which all virtue now is sold, W That which, to boot with hell, is thought And for it, life, conscience, yea souls are given, Just to the weight their this day's presents bear; 2 Elizabeth countess of Rutland.] The lady to whom the 79th epigram is addressed, daughter of sir Philip Sidney, and wife of Roger Manners, fifth earl of Rutland. She died before the appearance of this volume, as did her husband. Were yet unfound, and better placed in earth,3 Riches thought most; but, madam, think what store The world hath seen, which all these had in trust, And now lie lost in their forgotten dust. It is the Muse alone, can raise to heaven, And at her strong arm's end, hold up, and even, That bred them, graves: when they were born they died, That had no muse to make their fame abide. Have beauty known, yet none so famous seen? Or, in an army's head, that lock'd in brass Were yet unfound, and better placed in earth, &c.] "Aurum irrepertum et sic melius situm Quàm cogere humanos in usus HOR. |